“Ah.” Oppa bowed his head. “That is sad indeed.” He looked out over the fields, frowning as if in memory. “There was a daughter too, was there not?”
The man’s face tightened. “Egilona,” he said quietly.
“You are fond of her,” said Oppa, watching him.
“I have known the child since her birth. Yes, I am fond of her.”
Oppa swung down from his horse and approached him. He leaned in close, studying the old man’s face. “Fond enough to protect her?” he asked softly. “To hide her, perhaps?”
The old man’s face darkened. “Egica, the king, has taken Egilona to Tuy as companion to his only son.”
Oppa’s mouth tightened in annoyance. “My father is ever attentive to detail,” he said lightly, but anger curdled his stomach. He did not like having his plans thwarted. “And the lady Elsuith?”
The rheumy eyes were surprisingly clear, a faint smile lurking on his mouth when the man answered. “Fráuja Suinthila wondered if perhaps someone may come asking such questions,” he said. “He instructed me to tell you this: his wife is safe, in a place none can reach her.”
Oppa stared at him. “Brave words,” he said softly. “For a dead man.”
“I was dead long before you sailed here, Oppa Egicason.” The old man’s eyes narrowed as Oppa called one of his men over and said something in his ear. The man mounted his horse and rode toward the coastline cliffs from where they had recently come, gesturing for a small party to follow him. “But that is where I have the advantage over you.”
“Oh?” Oppa’s mouth curled. “And why is that?”
“Because you, also, are a dead man.” The old man smiled at him. “You just don’t know it yet. You may take Aurariola. Its crops and oil belong to him who reaps them. But the land – the land belongs to the blood of Suintila, and whilst that blood lives still, Aurariola will never truly be yours.”
Oppa’s knife flashed in the sunlight. Blood sprayed through the air in a fine arc, and the old man fell to the stones, the last of his life leaching into the pale earth. Oppa stood in the hard sunlight, thinking.
“That may not have been wise.” Giscila spat to one side. “How are we to find the woman if our only source of information is dead?”
“In Sebastopolis,” said Oppa slowly, “I met many men who had fought alongside Theudemir of Aurariola. I paid for their wine, and I listened to them talk. There was one story they told, more often than any other. Do you know what that story was, Uncle?” Kneeling, he wiped his knife carefully on the grass.
“Of course I do not know it,” said Giscila impatiently. “Enough of your games, nephew. Spit out what you mean to say.”
“You lack subtlety, Uncle.” Oppa’s tone was mildly reproving. “But no matter. The story goes that Theudemir of Aurariola gained the attention of the mighty commander Apsimar very early in his training during a drill on the coast. Theudemir, it seemed, correctly predicted the location of the mock enemy force by identifying bat droppings amongst the rocks on the coastal cliff. He said, when asked, that in the cliffs where he played as a boy, such a large quantity of bat droppings signified a cave big enough to shelter many men.” His eyes searched the barley fields restlessly. “Apsimar was so impressed by his powers of discernment that he promoted him soon after. Such stories become the stuff of legend. I heard the tale so many times I tired of it.”
The men sent to search the villa came out, shaking their heads. “The woman isn’t here,” said Giscila, eyeing Oppa impatiently. “We can leave a handful of men to hold it if you will, but we should ride before news travels of our arrival. You can tell me these stories of yours as we ride.”
“You miss the point, Uncle.” A figure appeared in the distance, then another. As they gradually came closer, Oppa allowed himself a grim smile. “Those stories you so disdain are the key that unlocked the treasure I sought.” Giscila swung around, his mouth slack with shock as he saw the woman held captive in front of the riders, red-haired with wide hazel eyes and a tearstained face. Her swollen belly rode before her.
“You found her,” said Giscila, looking at Oppa with reluctant admiration.
“Of course I found her.” Oppa’s face was cold once more. “She was hiding in cliffs on the coast. I knew it as soon as the old man said she was safe somewhere we would never find her.” He glanced at Giscila. “Know your enemy well,” he said. “It is a lesson learned from my father.”
“And now?” Giscila looked at the woman as she came closer. “What will you do with her?”
“I had intended to use mother and daughter as pieces in the game.” Oppa eyed Elsuith’s swollen belly. “Another son to Suinthila, though – that is one piece too many, I fear, for the game I have planned.”
His sword flashed in the sun, the fine edge of steel lethal and sharp. Elsuith’s eyes widened as it neared her. “Better, I think,” said Oppa softly, “that both pieces are taken from the board.” The steel slid across Elsuith’s throat. Her eyes flared in shock, then faded as if part of her had known all along that there was only one outcome. Her hands covered her belly protectively, but as she slipped from the horse, Oppa’s blade pierced the gap between her fingers, straight through the mound of her belly in an act of finality that made even his own men blanch.
“I do not like surprises,” Oppa said, as her lifeless body fell atop that of the old man. “And I have my own plans for the lands around Aurariola.” He nodded at the man who had recently captured Elsuith. “Secure the perimeter of these lands and bring the whore, Elpis, ashore. You will remain with her here until I send for you.” He fixed the man with a hard gaze. “I expect to find her as untouched as I leave her. I do not care if she strips before you and begs to be taken – you will not do so. You will treat her as the most precious of your treasures. Should she be harmed, you will answer with your life.” He looked around narrowly. “I will leave enough men to hold the lands should it be necessary, though I do not think it will. The men from here ride at their lord’s side, against my father.”
“I am surprised that you did not send Suinthila’s woman to your father as a gift.” Giscila eyed him curiously.
“Are you?” Oppa’s eyes were flat and hard. “I am not entirely certain what I might find in Toletum. It is best, I think, that we hold some of the most valuable pieces and play them our own way, would you not agree, Uncle?”
Giscila eyed him with wary respect. “You play a hard game, nephew.”
“Hard games,” said Oppa, “are the only ones worth winning.” On the horizon, a man was riding fast toward them, his horse lathered and weary. “Ah! One of our messengers returns already.” Oppa frowned. “I wonder what he might know so soon?”
The man reined his horse in a cloud of dust. “Fráuja,” he said, his face excited beneath the exhaustion, “I came upon some news and thought it best to bring it to you directly rather than continue.”
“Well? What is it?”
“Egica rides south for Toletum. They say he is so certain it will fall that he sends men already to take Hispalis after it does,” said the man. “But the man I met told me that Sunifred’s daughter has made her escape from the city in the company of no more than a handful of men. Even now she rides south – for Illiberis.”
Oppa felt a surge of excitement. “Take a party of twenty men who know the land between here and there,” he ordered. “Ride hard. Make certain she does not arrive in Illiberis.” He met Giscila’s eyes. “It seems another valuable piece has been put into play.”
Giscila smiled grimly. “It is a land of riches, this Spania.” He spat.
“Indeed.” Oppa turned his horse back toward the coast. “But more than that, Uncle. Do you know who is betrothed to marry Sunifred’s daughter? No, of course you would not. It is another son of Aurariola. The heir, this time. It seems God has seen fit to put in our way the means not only to distract the man who would oppose my father but to torture him also. Our net may yet scoop up more than one fish when we arrive at Illiberis.”
“And when will that be?” Giscila asked.
“For you, sooner than for me. You will head my force of men south and west, ahead of my father’s army. You need take only the fortresses closest to Illiberis, and they are lightly defended, if our sources are true, and we have no reason to believe they are not. You will send word when you are ready to attack Illiberis itself.”
“Send word where?” Giscila looked slightly confused.
Oppa’s smile grew. “To your own dromons, Uncle. Mine will remain here, where it will be said I landed with them. I will take your rather less ostentatious force south to lie off the coast, just as you promised the young heiress to Illiberis you would. I shall await word from you both. When I receive yours, I shall send word to Lælia of Illiberis, if she has not seen fit to send for me first.”
“Why would you do this?”
Oppa’s smile faded, the hard light in his eye growing. “Because I would know what forces come to Illiberis’s aid from the south. I would know what enemies we might face when this is done. And because Illiberis has never been taken from the north and, no matter what strength we have with us, never will be.”
“Then why send me to do so?”
“You need only attack, Uncle. Not win. Hold them from the north, have them expend their defences in repelling you. I shall come from the south and do the rest. But” – he fixed Giscila with a stern eye – “they must know it is you who attack them. Everything rests on that. Ride at the forefront of your attack and be certain they see you.” His face darkened. “Betrayal,” he said softly, “is the greatest lure any trap can hold. Not only will Lælia of Illiberis face the man who murdered her parents; she will also face the man a part of her has begun to trust – one she will now understand was, all this time, allied with me and my family. And even if she somehow resists such heady bait, the men around her will not. Trust me, Uncle – if the men of Illiberis believe it is you who ride to take their lands, no force on earth will stop them throwing their might at your army, and certainly no young girl untried in battle.”
“And this is good?”
“It is good, Uncle.” Oppa could not stop the smile spreading across his face. “It is good, indeed.”
55
Athanagild
February, AD 693
Toletum, Spania
Toledo, Spain
From atop the city walls, Athanagild watched Egica’s forces approach through the olive groves surrounding Toletum, their armour amongst the trees like a gleaming silver sea. “We are lost,” he said bleakly.
Sisebut gripped his arm. “No. Toletum will fall, it is true.” His eyes darted about like a trapped animal. “But I have made plans to ensure our safety.” His body next to Athanagild’s radiated a sick heat.
“We should be careful.” Athanagild glanced around to hide his revulsion. “There are many eyes watching. Sunifred trusts no one, especially you, and especially now. He fears what will happen when Egica rides through those gates. He will not hesitate to condemn you to save himself.”
“We will not be here when he comes.” Sisebut’s breath was sour with wine. “There are horses waiting for us below the city walls, by the river. I have found men who will guard us as far as the coast, where a dromon waits to take us to Rome. We can leave, Athanagild, with enough gold to begin another life. None will question two men of God fleeing a civil war.”
“And leave our brothers in Christ to face Egica’s retribution, alone?” Athanagild tried to hide his disgust. “Leave my own brother Alaric to die a traitor, alone?”
“There is nothing we can do now!” The colour had fled Sisebut’s face. His fingers were like pincers in Athanagild’s skin. “They are dead men, Athanagild. As we will be if we stay. No matter your uncle’s influence. All know you are my clerk and part of Sunifred’s council. You cannot escape their fate if you remain.” He stepped closer, his eyes flat and hard, the hands on Athanagild’s shoulders possessive now. “You are mine,” he said, his voice soft and insidious. “We are bound by secrets that would destroy you if any knew them. Come with me, and I will ensure you want for nothing. In Rome we may live as we wish. Apart from the Church, maintaining a household of our own.”
Below them came the sound of men and steel. Athanagild met Sisebut’s eyes, forcing his own to give nothing away. “I will wait until the outcome is certain,” he said. “When it is known, only then will I come. But we cannot be seen together. Do you know the pleasure house on the way from the city, the one by the river?”
Sisebut smiled coldly. “The one where you met the Persian?” His mouth twisted at Athanagild’s face. “Of course I know it,” he said contemptuously. “What do I care if you dally with the little heretic? I have always known you are mine, Athanagild. Now it will always be so.” His hand cupped Athanagild’s chin, not gently. “Do not cross me,” he whispered. “If you betray me, you will be dead before the dawn. Do not think I cannot do this.” His hand dropped away and his tone became soft once more. “I will meet you in the brothel by the river as soon as the city is known to be lost – and lost it will be. But be warned, Athanagild – your treachery will also be your death.”
He spun away and disappeared into the night, leaving Athanagild gulping air, his heart racing with anger and tension. I could have killed him, he thought, his hand closing on the knife he had placed inside his robes. Why did I not kill him? Yet he knew, even as he asked the question, that he did not truly regret leaving Sisebut alive. What does my faith mean if I take the life of a man of God? He shook his head. “I cannot kill him,” he muttered bitterly. “I cannot.”
He heard a faint movement and spun around, his hand relaxing on the hilt when he saw who it was.
“No, Athanagild.” Shukra’s face was weary, tired in a way Athanagild could not recall seeing before. “You cannot kill, and I would not wish for you to do so. It is not good deeds for you, this.”
Athanagild looked down at the men gathering beneath him and thought of his father’s instructions to leave Toletum, and the battle, behind. “Nor can I leave my father to die alone.”
“But you will, Athanagild. Laurentius thought you might feel this way. He sent me to ensure you do not die, against your father’s wishes.”
Athanagild stared down at the gathering battle. “I can’t bear to think of him facing it alone.”
“It is your father’s choice. Just as it was yours to let Sisebut live.”
“I should have killed him,” Athanagild said bitterly.
“No. Sisebut you will be leaving to his own fate.”
Athanagild, hearing the cold note in Shukra’s voice, frowned. “Sisebut is a dangerous man.”
“Danger!” Shukra curled his mouth. After a short pause, he spoke again. “The only danger I am in is of dying of boredom. Pah! For such a battle to be coming, and unable to do anything but watch it.” As he spoke, a great crash echoed across the rock by the River Tagus, and the immense oaken doors of the fortress gate at the bridge splintered open beneath Egica’s battering ram. “And now it begins,” murmured Shukra, his face dark.
Paulus’s men were readying their horses at the northern end of the circus. Suinthila held the southern end with those on foot.
Egica’s bowmen thundered over the bridge, bows raised, splitting into wide lines that rode down upon the fragile defences of the circus. Their arrows flew at the men who stood on the flimsy scaffold on the circus walls, cutting them down with horrible precision. By the time the third line had fired their hand, those who remained on the scaffold were already reaching for sword and spear, anticipating the rush of horse at the walls. The cavalry rode for the weak opening at the southern end, where men had worked tirelessly for weeks shoring up the great gaps in the walls with earthworks and timber reinforcements. They barely held against the first wave of horse and began to crumble at the second.
Athanagild watched his father lead a charge over the wall and onto the field, sword held high, face hidden by an iron mask. Even from here, Athanagild co
uld hear the roar of his battle rage, see the blind fury with which he faced the horde that rode against them.
Then the Illiberis horsemen came from the rear of the circus in a diamond-shaped arrowhead of retribution, Paulus riding at their fore. They crashed over the wooden stake barriers and into the oncoming cavalry, taking down horse and man in a deadly crush. From the walls of Toletum, bowmen rose and took aim, showering Egica’s oncoming foot soldiers with an incessant rain of arrows that kept them from closing in on the circus itself.
Paulus’s men had cut through the lines of horse and were now pincered between the oncoming foot soldiers and Egica’s horsemen, meaning the bowmen on the Toletum ramparts could no longer fire at will. “Are we to simply stand here,” said Athanagild tightly, “and watch them die?”
“There is still a chance,” said Shukra, “if Sunifred can take Egica’s horsemen.”
The bulk of Egica’s attacking cavalry fell between the volley of spears and arrows from the circus and walls and repeated attacks by Paulus’s horsemen, who wheeled and regrouped with a lightning swiftness. They were Illiberis men, raised on horse, and moved with a dexterity that both confused and destabilised the attackers. They moved through the milling horsemen, cutting them down with ruthless speed, but they were hopelessly outnumbered, and even as Athanagild watched, the sheer bulk of Egica’s forces began to overpower them. “He must hurry,” murmured Shukra, gripping the wall as he looked at Sunifred’s men huddling behind the circus wall. “He sends them in now or it is lost.”
But despite Suinthila roaring for reinforcements as he hacked about him, Sunifred did not come. Athanagild saw him reach out and forcibly pull one of his thiufadi down beside him, gesturing for his men to maintain a defensive position. Finally, realising reinforcements would not come, Suinthila bellowed a command to retreat. Paulus’s Illiberis horsemen covered the men as they scrambled behind the walls, many of their number falling as they held the defence. They fought until the last of Sunthila’s men had retreated before racing behind them to take position on the crude walls. Egica’s men approached warily, picking their way through the bodies littering the ground. Despite their number of fallen, they kept coming in an endless flow, until the sheer weight of their numbers became a river, then a torrent, against which the earthen circus walls had no chance of standing.
The King's Coin: Ambition is the only faith (Visigoths of Spain Book 2) Page 46